


Stone in his pocket, Blood on his fists.

by orphan_account



Series: Hamilton at Hogwarts [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: John Laurens has no chill, M/M, Mirror of Erised, Reincarnation, its that part at the end of Philosophers Stone, like none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Laurens vs VoldemortFight!(Or Laurens finds Voldemort and Quirrel after the Philosophers Stone)





	1. Laurens V Voldemort

“Oh, you.” Quirrel stood in front of a mirror Laurens was familiar with. Too familiar. A sight that confused him, hadn’t Dumbledore moved it to a safe home? This wasn’t particularly safe. His confusion must’ve shone on his face and he quickly schooled it back into a blank mask he’d perfected during the war. Quirrel made his assumptions and began wittering on with himself. 

“Snape seems the type, doesn’t he?” What? Snape? Admittedly, he had before been suspecting him, but that had fell flat after he began looking at the facts and not complete speculation, “Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor s-s-stuttering p-p-professor Quirrel?” The urge to roll his eyes behind his glasses was near overwhelming. His glasses had also become rather impractical, with his eye sight changing and the fact he was beginning to get into more fights.  
To win this, he’d need some more time. He forced his voice to be confused and frightened,  
“But that day, at the Quidditch match, Snape tried to kill me.”  
“No, dear boy, I tried to kill you. If Snape’s cloak hadn’t caught fire and broken my eye contact I would have succeeded,” Thank you Hermione, he thought. It’d be horrible to die younger than his last life, “Even with Snape muttering his little counter curse.”  
“Snape was trying to save me?” He hated Snape – he seems cowardly. Reminded him of Charles Lee.  
“I knew you were a danger to me right from the off, especially after Halloween.”  
“You let the troll in.” A scathing statement that many would be shocked to hear fall from Harry Potter’s mouth. But he wore this body like a well-fitting suit. Laurens spoke from this mouth and saw from green eyes.

His anger felt far too close to the underside of his skin, boiling his blood.

“Very good Potter,” Quirrel stood still, entirely different to his previous defining jitters, “Yes, Snape, unfortunately, wasn’t fooled. While everyone was running about the dungeons he went to the third floor to head me off. He, of course, never trusted me again he barely left me alone,”

His scar twanged, pain shooting through his head. Laurens didn’t flinch, gunshots had hurt more. Quirrel’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.  
“But he doesn’t understand. I’m never alone. Not ever.” Quirrel moved now, turning towards the mirror. Laurens side stepped slowly, shifting to look into the mirror for purely selfish reasons.  
“Now, what does this mirror do? I see what I desire.” Alexander. He nearly keened the name aloud when he locked his eyes to those violet ones. “I see myself holding the stone, but how do I get it?” 

Quirrel was pondering this question when a high, cold voice answered,  
“Use the boy.” Laurens raised an eyebrow disdainfully. Quirrel flung his body around, making Laurens bite his tongue to stop the laughter that was beginning to burst from him.  
“Come here, Potter!” He bellowed. He thought he should be scared. Or at least concerned by this turn of affairs. However, he never was the most stable minded man. “Now! Tell me, what do you see?” 

He walked down the steps, chin tipped up imperiously. It was nearly show time. He looked up at Quirrel, slitting his eyes and sizing him up. Just stall a little longer. Flawlessly turning on the balls of his feet and stopping smartly in front of the mirror. He stood to attention, tense. Ready to strike.

Alexander smirked at the beginnings of a salute and wrapping his arms around the back of the Laurens in the mirror. His mirror image looked like he had at eleven, yet dressed in his clothes. Maybe he should dye his hair, he mused, watching as Alexander dipped his fingers into the pocket of his jeans. He drew out a red stone, winking quickly, before replacing it. He ruffled Laurens’ hair as a heavy weight dropped into that very same pocket.  
He heard Quirrel draw breath to talk and faked surprise when he barked uncomfortably close to his ear,  
“What is it? What do you see?” His mirror self was twenty-seven and held Alexander close, burrowing his nose into the copper locks.  
That scene was his alone.  
He needed a believable lie. Dumbledore had mentioned something at Christmas.  
“I’m stood in between my parents.”  
“He lies.” The same sinister voice from earlier. Quirrel seized the front of his jumper and Laurens concentrated on contorting his face into a frightened mask, desperately wanting to snarl. It wasn’t yet time. Soon.  
“Tell the truth! What do you see?”  
“Let me speak to him.” Quirrel dropped him and he took a step back up the stairs, stance widening.  
“Master, you are not strong enough.”  
“I have strength enough for this.” Quirrel began unravelling his turban, slowly. He obviously had a flair for dramatics. Slowly, slowly, the fabric fell away. Revealing a grotesque face. Veins stood a stark blue against the moist, sticky skin. Crimson slits for eyes and a nose in the parody of a snakes. Flat or not there at all. They locked eyes in the mirror and the pain sparked up from his scar, “Harry Potter, we meet again.”  
“I’ve seen week old corpses in better condition than you.” It slipped out, rolling off his tongue as he readied himself for the fight that was sure to come. His head snapped to the side. Quirrel had slapped him and he growled quietly, clenching his fists. Soon.  
“You imprudent child!” he screeched, but the Voldemort cut him off,  
“I am nearly dead. Do you see what I’ve become? See what I must do to survive. Live off another and be a parasite. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but it cannot give me a body of my own.” Laurens rolled his eyes at the monologuing, “But there is something that can. Something that, conveniently enough, lies in your pocket.” 

He’d had enough waiting.  
“Spin around and talk to me face to face.” He emphasised the last three words, slowing his speech mockingly. Voldemort laughed and Quirrel turned as Laurens rocked his right shoulder and arm backwards. Everything slowed. He wished for the reassuring weight of a pistol. Those eyes staring into his soul.

Now.

A feral smile tugged at his mouth and he slammed his knuckles into that smug face. The skin blistered where he connected, steam rolling off the bubbling flesh. Quirrel swore, whipping his wand out only to drop it when Laurens tackled the abomination. The world tilted and they were wrestling on the stone floor. Never had he been gladder that Wizards had terrible strength.  
Straddling Quirrel’s back, he punched Voldemort again. Admittedly there might’ve been a reason he didn’t live past twenty-seven. Stupidly reckless. The skull cracked like an egg with a sound like canon fire. His hands scorched.  
They screamed.  
Only to be drowned out by the cries of shot steeds and whimpers of men left to die. The smell of blood, sweat, shit and gunpowder filled his nostrils. Laurens was in the war again.

Quirrel lay still underneath him.  
He rolled off Quirrel, collapsing to the blood-soaked stone floor. 

As his eyes slipped closed, Alexander was the last thing he saw.


	2. Laurens V Dumbledore

Laurens kept his eyes closed when he joined the land of the waking, slipping out of fitful dreams. 

He listened carefully. Papers were being shuffled somewhere nearby and the unmistakable sound of short heels on a stone hall. A, more statistically likely, woman was walking. It was muffled, as if a barrier was between him and her. He was lay on a firm mattress, the sheets crisp and uncomfortable beneath him. A chair creaked, someone was next to him. Berating himself, he focused on the quiet breathing that he’d over looked. He froze, forcing his limbs not to lock, before making a show of waking up.  
Stretching his arms above his head as he sat up, he noticed his hands didn’t hurt. The knuckles had been split open horrifically. How long had been out?   
A week, most likely. 

 

Opening his eyes, he took in the white curtain sectioning the small space,  
“Good morning, Mr Potter.” He glanced at his companion, replying cautiously,

“Morning headmaster. How long was I out?”

“A couple of days,” He nodded, yawning, “Do you remember what happened?”

Does he remember that he murdered Quirrel? Was he in his right mind? Was he dangerous? Those where the real questions.   
He could answer truthfully, but he needed to stay at Hogwarts. Being locked up would hinder him. He couldn’t find everyone if he was locked away.

“No,” He began, talking slowly. Measuring his words carefully, “Not really,” If he could make it seem like adrenaline or shock had numbed his memories and mind, he could get away with this.

“Start from the beginning.” Dumbledore prompted.  
He paused, furrowing his brow and biting his lip, “I remember Quirrel and a mirror. The mirror from Christmas,” He looked Dumbledore in the eyes,

“What did you see in the mirror,”

“I had a stone,”

“The philosopher’s stone.”

“And a voice. A face,” The piercing red eyes flashing in his mind and he shuddered, “It was horrible. He attacked me. I – I,” he petered off. Acting as if he was grasping for memories that weren’t there.  
“I don’t know after that.” 

A wizened hand gently patted his shoulder,  
“It’s ok, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore looked relieved.

“What happened?” 

“You faced Voldemort and Quirrel could no longer handle holding the spirit in his body. He, unfortunately, died.” He glanced down and Laurens did the same,

“I’m sorry.”

“You had nothing,” everything “To do with it,” He patted his shoulder again and stood, “Get some rest. Poppy should let you out of the hospital wing soon.”

Laurens burrowed back down into the stiff blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ridiculously short haha. Sorry.


	3. Laurens V Vernon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg omg this is so long for me. WTF?

Everyone had packed and it was time to head home. Gryffindor had won the house cup by Dumbledore’s preference of Gryffindors to Slytherins and grades had been handed out.

 

Laurens had done well and promised himself that he’d climb the ranks higher the next year. He had always been studious; his father had once remarked that his studies were why he was a late bloomer. Not that rampant homosexuality had nothing to do with it. While Alexander had always been the academic of the Gay Trio (a name that he with feverously amused by the irony and implications of), Laurens knew his way around a quill and how to complete essays for his own purposes and his allotment of work as one of Washington’s aide-de-camps before the candles burnt out. Hermione was top of the class and, surprisingly, Neville was beginning rise in the ranks, only occasionally having miniature breakdowns and working through a near constant string of illnesses that he had been having since Christmas. 

 

Something smacked into his back slightly.

“Excuse me,” Blonde hair passed him, after murmuring the pleasantries. Unsure of who it was, despite a pestering thought telling him that he was familiar, he reached out and took the arm of the slightly smaller person. 

“Are you okay?” His southern drawl slipped from his mouth, unbeknownst to him.  
Draco Malfoy turned around. His hair wasn’t slicked back against his skull and had deepened from platinum white to a honey blond. It lay in soft curls. 

“Yes, thank you Pot- aren’t your eyes green?” The rude remark was cut off by his own inquisitiveness. 

“They used to be and now,” Laurens gestured to his glasses-less face with one hand,

“They are blue,” finished off Malfoy, nodding once as if that happened all the time. Although, that was a sudden change of heart for Malfoy to stop meticulously styling his hair. 

“Why the change of hair? I didn’t recognize you.” Malfoy gave a small laugh,

“It wasn’t my choice, but it is more,” He broke off, staring at the empty corridor around them, “It is more me.” He decided. “What about that accent of yours? It’s been slipping from British to American since Christmas.” 

 

Lauren’s eyes widened and he threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Snapped Malfoy.

“You’re the only one who’s properly noticed and said anything,” Malfoy hummed, unimpressed, “Like you said, it is more me.”

 

“Lots of us are changing this year.” Malfoy said this quietly, looking down. It was all uncharacteristic of him.

“Like who?”

“Granger, Longbottom, Blaise and Pansy. More.” Laurens hummed. Where these reincarnates? Was Malfoy a reincarnate? Probably, by the sudden change. Who?  
Who could he be?

“You know, this is the longest civil conversation we’ve had, Malfoy.” Malfoy looked up at him, and huffed a noise of amusement.

“Draco, I insist, Potter.”

“Call me Joh– Harry.” Draco looked at him, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Let’s walk, the train will be arriving soon.” They set off down the corridor, passing the great hall.

 

“It wasn’t fair what Dumbledore did. At the feast.”

“No, it wasn’t. But he favours you Gryffindors over Slytherins.” 

“He’s a bastard.” A harsh laugh escaped the boy next to him and he tossed his head. Laurens nearly tripped. How could he have been so blind?

 

“What’s with Draco?” The person in question looked up at him, arching a perfect eyebrow, “It’s such an odd name. Surely you must have middle names.”

“It’s an old name, about a star constellation. Tradition from my mother’s family. Middle names,” He contemplated his words on the topic. Conversations were much like chess, Laurens mused. Some plan their next move according to every possible thing you could do and others flew in headfirst. He looked Laurens in the eyes, pronunciation his next words with purpose, “I was baptised like a Spaniard. With the name of every conceivable saint who might offer me more protection in battle.” 

 

And that’s when Laurens tackled Lafayette to the floor, chanting his name joyously. 

“I must admit,” Laurens stopped his chanting, still clutching at Lafayette, “while you obviously know me, I died old. I’m not entirely sure-“

“Laurens.” 

 

McGonagall happened on enemies clutching each other close and sobbing, babbling in French to each other.  
“The train home is arriving and you are the only students in school.” She looked down and they looked up at her. Lafayette detached himself slowly, red faced, before pulling up Laurens.  
“Misters Potter, Malfoy.”

They looked down and Laurens leaned against Lafayette, wiping his tears away and Lafayette rubbed their cheeks together. McGonagall raised her eyebrows before smiling when they detached and ran to the doors. It really was nice to see people breaching the house barriers; especially Gryffindors and Slytherins.

 

They raced to the train, hopping into the closing doors.  
“Gilbert, send me an owl.” Lafayette smiled up at him,

“We should meet up.”

“Yeah. Grow some, it’s weird that you’re so short.” Lafayette smacked his arm playfully.

“Don’t get yourself killed.” He began walking off, waving behind to Laurens. He took a moment to revel in finding a trusted friend, before walking in the opposite direction to find Hermione and Ron.

 

“Should we go looking for Harry?” Hermione’s voice drifted from the compartment coming up. He banged the door open,

“No need!”  
Ron grinned waving through a mouthful of pumpkin pie and Laurens bounced to a seat. 

“Why so happy?” asked Hermione, smiling softly.

“Despite everything, it was a good year.” 

“Yeah.” They sat in silence and Laurens observed her. The lightened hair and posture. She sat like a noble woman, unlike her previous slouch. She must be one of them he didn’t know. 

“Hermione, do you believe in reincarnation?” She took a doubletake, frowning at him.

“There has been recorded happenings of it in the wizarding world,”

“It’s from when that generation had it rough and are reincarnated to give them a better life.” Ron said, smiling at them, “My sister’s one.”

“Really?” asked Laurens, “Who?” 

“Some American woman.” Hermione perked right up,

“I’d love to meet her!”

“If that what it takes for you to come to my house this summer, so be it.” He said laughing.

“Ron,” chastised Laurens jokingly, “We’d come to your house anyway.” This camaraderie wasn’t a lie, Laurens enjoyed Ron’s company despite his childishness. But that came from innocence and Laurens knew that innocence was something that needed to be treasured. 

 

They spent hours chatting and joking, soon arriving at London. 

 

A wizened old guard was by the ticket barrier, letting them out a few at a time, to not startle the muggles. People called out to Laurens, saying goodbye to Harry Potter.

 

Ginny Weasley stood next to her mother, watching as she pulled Ron into a hug. Mrs Weasley smiled down at them.

“Busy year?” she asked. Laurens replied,

“Very. Thanks for the fudge and the jumper, Mrs Weasley.” She lit up, before trying to play it off. It was endearing.

“Oh, it was nothing dear.”

“Ready, are you?” Vernon, purple faced. 

“No.” he smiled, before observing Ginny Weasley closer. He bowed to her,

 

“Pleasure to meet you, miss,” She took his hand,

“Schuyler.” He kissed her hand, forcing himself to move through the shock. 

“What is it like?” He stood straight, looking into her dark, black eyes. 

“Strange. Are you one? You don’t seem freaked out,” She stepped close to him.

“I don’t think so, it probably would have occurred to me by now.” He lied. She hugged him.

“You knew my name.” She whispered into his ear. Fuck it. It was an educated guess, with everything the Alexander told him from the mirror and the letters he got during the war.  
“I knew your husband, Eliza. Intimately.” With that he stepped away, waved to the others and followed the Dursleys. 

 

Vernon glared at him,  
“There will be no freakishness in my house, boy.” He threatened quietly. Laurens looked at him, unfazed. Vernon couldn’t intimidate a soldier.

“Go fuck yourself.” Petunia gasped dramatically.  
Vernon turned a deeper shade of maroon. Out the corner of his eye he could see Lafayette slow clap as he strutted in the guise of Draco Malfoy behind his father.

 

When they got back to Privet Drive, the fighting began.

“Go to your room!” Roared Vernon, spit flying from his maw. Laurens sidestepped the unwanted shower with ease. 

“Fuck you.” Vernon grabbed his arm and began manhandling him to the stairs. Screaming like a beast, Laurens bit down on the fatty flesh, tasting copper and enjoying it. Petunia also screamed, pulling Dudley into the living room. He dropped to a crouch when Vernon shook him off, leaning against the wall and panting in exertion.  
Laurens’ hands hooked into claws and Hedwig hooted. He launched himself towards her, hooking his fingers around the cage and his trunk before hauling it up the stairs before Vernon could recuperate.

 

The door was covered in locks and he sighed before putting his stuff aside and stepping back. He then stamped his foot down and struck his other foot against the door. It rebounded off the wall as Vernon thundered up the stairs, shaking the house. Ignoring him, Laurens pulled his stuff into the room and slammed open his window. Then he freed Hedwig from her cage and sent her off with hasty instructions to go to Lafayette. 

 

Vernon screamed murder, face turning blue with blood loss and lack of air.  
“Aww,” he said, putting on a concerned tone as he deftly avoided Vernon’s sloppy punches, “Are you not getting a good fuck? Is that why you’re so out of breath?” Vernon bellowed like a deranged moose and Laurens vaulted over his bed, placing his hands on his hips condescendingly, “Being celibate for eleven years really doesn’t do well for your body, especially at your age and physique,”

 

Vernon picked up a lamp and threw it. Laurens didn’t even deign to flinch and it missed him, cracking with an almighty sound; too much like cannon fire for his likening. Laurens tensed, feeling the anger swell under his skin and push out. He could imagine his skin stretching and bubbling, like heated plastic. As if animals crawled under his skin, baiting the beast to leave its hibernation too early. To starve it. He breathed in, calming. It wouldn’t do well to kill his ‘dear beloved uncle’. He bared his teeth in a grin. Vernon tensed under a blue gaze.

 

“Although,” he continued casually, having far too much fun. “I don’t blame Petunia. I wouldn’t want to fuck you either.” Vernon threw an old broken console of his sons and Petunia appeared at the door.

 

“Dear,” she began, tugging him out of the room and whispering frantically. 

 

It was nice to be able to fight back, thought Laurens as he reclined on the stale blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION!!!! How do you want me to carry this on? I'm going to do CoS sparingly. Do you want it entirely from Laurens or from others???? 
> 
> I've introduced Lafayette and Eliza properly and some others.  
> Lafayette... Men in that time wore powdered wigs and other stuff, but I saw a picture of Lafayette without that and he looked like he might've had brown hair. But I'm not entirely sure as it was only one portrait, so I went for a mix of the two and got dark/warm blond. He also joked in his biography that thing about his name and Spaniards. He was also tall, but I put him shorter than Laurens FOR NOW because of teens and growing. It's all very erratic. 
> 
> I made Eliza to be known by her family to be a reincarnate because they are purebloods and this has happened before. Also, Ginny might've gone to her parents, being so young. Alexander wrote to John of Eliza's 'black eyes' and Angelica had brown eyes, so I think Eliza must have had darker eyes (Much like Snape). 
> 
> The fight with Vernon. I'm sorry, but Laurens was a soldier. He wouldn't have let anyone treat him like that. He's pissed off. He's vulgar. He's a revolutionary young adult, who died at 27 and had loads of anger and angst. He's gonna snap.  
> To guest 'Alexander'. I was gonna get him to curse out a teacher, but that would probably happen in CoS, because Vernon just fit and flowed better.

**Author's Note:**

> So, some might be like 'Why is Laurens such an angry murderous baby?'.  
> He has no chill historically. Like at all.  
> In the Charles Lee duel he basically got dragged back from killing Lee after the first shot. After Brandywine, Germantown Lafayette says 'It was not his fault that he was not killed or wounded, he did everythingthat was necessary to procure one or t'other'.  
> He had no chill as a diplomat either. In 1780 he went to France to help Franklin get loans. After 6 weeks of nothing he went directly to the king and upset people by not paying his respects and straight up asking for the loan.  
> Not retreating left him dead on the second British volley at the Combahee river left him dead.
> 
> All in all he had no chill what so ever. So I won't write him chill either.


End file.
